


on mornings like this

by theboywhoblockedhisownshot



Category: Naruto
Genre: Depression, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-28
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-10-12 06:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10484136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theboywhoblockedhisownshot/pseuds/theboywhoblockedhisownshot
Summary: sometimes you just gotta write?¿it's short and shit but i need to get back into writingit's difficult to do when you're bad with expression





	

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just gotta write?¿  
> it's short and shit but i need to get back into writing  
> it's difficult to do when you're bad with expression

One wednesday morning, everything outside is grey. 

Standing in front of the mirror, he observes his appearance, thinking himself lucky that he no longer has anything new to pick out about himself.

On mornings like this, where everything is grey but there’s no rain outside, he follows the same routine.

It’s an indescribable feeling, loathing yourself to the point where it becomes obsession. It’s something that’s been there always, stuck on him like a birthmark. Unmoving. Everyone thinks him out to be this black hole, this darkness that exists only to bring those around him down and suck all their energy and colour and uniqueness away. Everyone thinks it and so does he.

A common joke amongst the village is that he is depression itself, the illness if ever it took human form. It would be funny, he’d have even laughed, if he had not agreed with them. Sometimes the truth just couldn’t be joked about.

On mornings like this, he takes his time in the shower.

The hot stream of water scalds his back and neck, runs down over his shoulders to his chest and burns him mildly there too. It feels good, wakes him up. And when he’s finished, he makes himself a drink, which is left on the side as he makes his way over to sit at the table. He does not drink it. 

It goes cold.

On mornings like this, breakfast isn’t an option. Even if he had an appetite, it would be too troublesome to get up and cook or prepare something.

Instead, he makes his way back to the bedroom, sits on the bed and watches the sleeping figure that lays on the opposite side to his.

If he had a doctor, he isn’t sure what he would say. His tendency to dismiss and deny all of his problems gets in the way of him seeking any sort of help. Sometimes he doesn’t believe that the way he feels inside is real, sometimes he doesn’t believe that any of it is real. But those kinds of thoughts take him on an entirely different plane altogether, one that he’d rather not visit if he can help it.

Instead he relies on those who surround him in his everyday life, which comes with its ups and downs. The figure sleeping soundly next to him is the only one truly able to empathize with him, and for that he thinks himself blessed. Therapy, antidepressants, doctors, psychiatrists -- all those things he knows he does not need, for this isn’t something that can just be labelled. 

It is one of the only things he’s certain of.

On mornings like this, the same thing happens.

While he isn’t looking, while he’s sat with his knees tucked up and chin resting on top, he doesn’t notice the eyelids slowly opening, fluttering as his pupils dilate. While he isn’t looking, electric blue eyes focus on his figure and realisation dawns upon the face behind him.

While his eyes tear up, Naruto already knows what kind of morning it is for him.

It has happened so often that Sasuke should not flinch slightly in surprise when a pair of tan arms circle his waist and pull him closer, just like they always do. When he feels a chin rest atop of his shoulder, feels the familiar face nuzzle into his neck and blow hot, comforting air onto his skin, he remembers why he is still here.

On mornings like this, he is grateful.


End file.
